Ache
by HowNowWit
Summary: An ache slow to fade. Rizzles. One-shot. [from tumblr prompt]


A/N: Posted this on tumblr a while ago and decided to transfer it here. Based on a tumblr prompt.

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Ache

"Jane, there's something I have to tell you. Well, both you and Frankie. But I thought you should know first."

Jane sighed, yanking loose curls from her face as she searched for her shield. She knew she'd left it in the drawer, just like she always did in Maura's kitchen.

"Can't it wait?" Her left hand came up empty once again and she vaguely remembered Maura mentioning something about insanity, repeating the same actions and expecting a different result. Her lips thinned and she shoved the drawer closed harder than usual. "I just got a call, and I can't find—"

"Jane."

That tone shot a shiver of dread through her middle. She'd heard it countless times before, heralding some untold misfortune. Straightening, she met familiar eyes across the length of the kitchen. The solemnity in those eyes sent a tremor through her hands and a flash of chilly heat across her skin. She knew. She knew she wouldn't like what came next with a certainty she felt in her bones.

A deep breath, and then: "I'm pregnant."

Shock sizzled along her nerves like storm clouds charging for a lightning strike.

Silence. There was only silence and a hollow ache in her abdomen. It pulsed, a slow, growing thrum, like a faulty echo of her rapid heartbeat. _Pregnant_ , it said. _Pregnant pregnant pregnant._

Her hand twitched, itching to cover the ache, to press it into nonexistence.

"Angela? I found those shoes you were looking for..." Maura rounded the corner and paused inside the kitchen. Her arms, holding a pair of worn tennis shoes, gradually lowered as she gazed at Jane, confusion and concern shifting to knowing alarm as her eyes darted to Angela.

"Oh," Maura breathed, barely audible, and those hazel eyes returned to hers, so full of compassion and apology that Jane jerked her gaze away.

Her gut twisted with a strange mix of betrayal and hope. She wasn't aware of moving until her back bumped the hard edge of the granite countertop. It was wrong. All of this felt wrong. Backwards. The pulsing in her abdomen became heavy.

"Did you know about this?" She gestured towards her mother, trying to force her thoughts into order.

Elbows on the counter, Angela pressed her face into her hands and pulled the skin tight along her face as she slowly let go. "I just had some questions for her. When I found out." A hesitant shrug. "You know, at my age…"

"Oh my God." The exclamation came without her permission, raspy around the lump in her throat.

In her peripheral, Maura took a step closer, but Jane pressed back into the counter further, until the hard edge bit into her skin and offset the heavy pulse in her front. Maura stilled.

"You said you wanted grandbabies. Not another _child_." It sounded accusatory, and Jane struggled to control her tone.

Angela clasped her hands on the counter, head bowed.

"Janie, I—" Jane shut her eyes. She could never stand the sound of tears in her mother's voice, the way it wavered, wet and lost. "I don't know what to say."

"How can you even—" Jane blinked, forehead crinkling. "Wait, who's the father?"

Angela's face shifted into a determined expression edged with guilt. The few contenders flashed through Jane's mind, both with grey hair and crinkled eyes.

"Oh my _God_." Jane raised a hand, staving off any answer.

"Jane." Maura's voice, tender and soft, was the small spark that set her charged skin aflame.

"I can't." Her head shook fast enough to blur the entire kitchen. "I can't."

She was upstairs in her bedroom before she registered moving. No transition, not even the pull of muscles as she climbed the stairs. Just…nothing. The realization spooked her, reminded her too much of her flashes, back when Hoyt hid behind every door slam and flash of light. She tried to calm her rapid breaths the way Maura had taught her. Tried to focus on the scent of Maura's fruity fabric softener in the comforter, mixed with her own lavender shampoo.

Time ceased to mean as she paced back and forth, seeking calm. Distantly, she was aware she was overreacting. But her body refused to listen to reason. A mirthless laugh swelled in her chest, trapped. There were a lot of things her body refused to do. The bitter thought made her pause and realize how tightly her fists were clenched.

The doorknob twisted, followed by a quiet snick as the latch pushed free, then closed once more. She didn't have to turn to know who stood at the entrance, and whose deliberately slow and steady steps crossed the carpet and stopped a few feet away. The heavy weight in her abdomen was gone, replaced by a hollowness even more horrid and painful.

Her hand rose to cover the scar. She pressed in and down, willing the lump from her throat.

"You knew." She sounded tired to her own ears, worn and weary.

"For a few days, yes," Maura said, and having her this close was both wonderful and agonizing. "I tried to encourage her to wait to tell you. I didn't want to…" Maura's hand reached out, hesitating just shy of Jane's elbow. Always careful.

Jane closed her eyes in a slow blink. "Upset me," she finished, turning to face Maura. "Because I'm fragile, right? Because I can't—" She stumbled, unable to finish the sentence.

Hazel eyes danced between her own, drawing her away from hollow aches and scar tissue and into something far softer and patient.

"Jane." That voice, the way it cradled her name. Like safety, and trust, pliant and wonderful.

A tear slipped free, and when Maura's warm hand caressed her elbow, Jane wasn't ashamed of the tremor in her lip.

"It's selfish, I know," she admitted in a whisper, to stave off further tears. The sorrow in Maura's eyes brought them anyway, and Jane slid forward into Maura's arms, wrapping her own around a slim waist and pressing her nose into soft hair. The pressure in her throat and chest expanded until she shook.

"But she's not even _trying_ , and she— she—" A sob worked its way from her throat and she pushed her forehead into Maura's shoulder, pulling Maura closer as though to smother that hollow ache in her middle.

A hand gripped the back of her neck, fingers splaying and providing comforting pressure. An _I'm here_. _Stay with me_. Lips brushed the side of her cheek. _Please_.

"Hey," Maura said, as though the single word acknowledged everything. As though it grounded her and brought her back. Maybe it did.

"Hey," she repeated, stronger this time, and Jane felt its vibration in her own chest. "The miscarriage was a fluke, okay? We'll keep trying." For a few moments it was only them. Just the two of them pressed together and the hollow ache between. "Okay?" Maura asked, more insistent, and Jane felt the syllables along the corner of her jaw, small but powerful.

Jane nodded, eyes still closed. She kept nodding, forehead pressing against shoulder, and gradually the muscles beneath her fingers relaxed. She hadn't realized how tense Maura was.

"I'm sorry," Jane said, taking a shuddering breath and regaining some composure. "It's all the hormones." She pulled away slightly, wiping at her eyes before letting her hand fall with a smack against her side. "They're pumping me full of all this shit and it's supposed to be helping but it's not helping."

Maura traced the pads of her fingers along Jane's throat, a light touch, but meaningful. The caress drew Jane's eyes up, and the connection slipped through her veins like warmed honey. She became aware of their embrace, the heat and the comfort of arms around her shoulders. She needed this the way flowers need sunlight.

"Sometimes artificial insemination takes a few tries. We discussed this." Her hand paused as Maura hesitated. "And, if you want to stop, we can always—"

"No." Resolute.

Maura held her gaze, searching, considering. Her thumb swiped across a tear trail as her fingers slipped into Jane's hair.

"No," Jane repeated, then quieter, like a confession: "I want to try." She turned her head to press a kiss against Maura's palm.

Maura's eyes traced the gesture. "All right," she relented and let out a long breath. "Had Angela known about…everything, I suspect she would have used more tact in telling you."

Jane glanced away.

"She's in her _fifties_ , Maur."

"Menopause only officially occurs when a woman ceases menstruation for a consecutive twelve month period." Maura started to lean back, but Jane "Many women are in perimenopause for years before they fully transition."

"She's frightened. She knows about the risk for complications."

They were silent as that weighed the air.

"You realize this means we could be raising our child right next to their half uncle." No matter how many times she said it, _our child_ still sent a small thrill through her. Almost enough to silence the ache. Almost.

"Or aunt," Maura added. The corner of her lips twitched. "Yes."

Jane watched the curve of Maura's almost smile, felt the solid pressure of the woman in her arms, and something in her chest settled into place. She rested her forehead against Maura's.

"Maur?"

"Yeah?" Her nose bumped Jane's.

She paused. "I'm too old to be a new sister."

Maura's laugh was hearty and unexpected, shaking them both. Jane tightened her grip, pulling the delicate joy into her own body, enjoying the warm breath against her neck. Maura quieted after a while, and they stood there, relaxing in the aftermath.

"You scared me," Maura murmured the words against her cheek. "You were so pale."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know." It felt like a promise, like forgiveness and understanding all rolled into one, and Jane smiled. _Thankful_ didn't begin to describe the warmth in her heart.

"I love you."

The curve of Maura's smile brushed her own, and for just a moment, that hollow ache was only a memory.


End file.
